The Thief
by chocolatemooses
Summary: The second time he took her pain, bore it straight from her body. “Why?” His eyes bore into hers and she couldn’t help but feel incredibly small, protected, under his watchful gaze. “I guess I owe you” Sylar/Elle.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Thief

Author: chocolatemooses

Characters: Sylar, Elle, (with mentions of Claire, Eden, and Dr. Suresh)

Chapter: Chapter 1

Summary: _The first time he stole her words. Took them right from her mouth and kept them for himself. It didn't satisfy his hunger (desire) for her but he contented himself with it for now._

Author's Notes: AU for 3x07 Eris Quod Sum. This is my first Sylar/Elle fic so I am a little nervous. This takes place after Elle gets fired from the company. Please read and review!

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Regardless of the labels placed on him (murderer, psychopath, freak); he was, for lack of a better word, a thief. A thief who took what he wanted from others, indifferent to the people he hurt (Eden, Claire, Suresh) and the consequences of his actions (death). He cared not for those things and he probably never would. He, like any thief, would continue to steal, pilfer, and ravage people's minds and souls until the day he died. It was an urge (hunger) that beckoned him to take, a flare of power, a shock of adrenaline, a flash of release; it called to him like a siren's song and he was helpless to stop himself.

When he first saw her (her and her power) he wanted her (more than he has wanted a lot of things). But she was different (crazy, sadistic, broken) and he knew he couldn't just kill her, he knew he had to take more from her than just her beautiful, wonderful power. He knew he had to take everything from her.

The first time he came to her, she was angry (scared, lonely, frightened). She cursed his name, shocked his body, and killed him over and over again. Eventually though, her body (her will) gave out against the pain and she collapsed in a heap of exhaustion on the motel floor. His powers did their job and he was on his feet before she even had a chance to catch her breath. Avoiding her glare, he took in the room he found himself in; an old, run-down motel that undoubtedly charged by the hour. The peeling paint, paper thing walls, and odor of desperation that surrounded him made a little charge of pity (sympathy) go through his body.

She was still on the ground breathing heavily, electric blue eyes dark and glittering with defiance (anger, maybe even enjoyment?) She set her jaw tight as she pulled her body up; her hands warming once again with blue sparks, the sight sent a jolt of trepidation (excitement) down his spine. He warned her against any more shocking surprises ("I wouldn't try that if I were you. I have been playing nice so far but I wouldn't want to test my patience, anymore than you already have"). She didn't heed his warning and his entire body went ridged as the lightning coursed through his veins. But he wasn't in the mood to play anymore and, ignoring the pain, he threw her bodily across the room and slammed her into the crumbling walls. ("I warned you")

She struggled and strained against her invisible bonds. She yelled and screamed (I hate you, what do you want, I'll kill you). She never stopped her cries of anger and boiling hatred, yet her eyes never left his. Not once. A warm tingling sensation filled him, called to him, told him to finish what he started and take away the only thing she had left. Everything was perfect; the fear in her eyes and the desire pumping through his body. But he made no move to begin, he simply held her there and let the feeling of anticipation roll over him.

When the feeling faded out, he refocused his vision on her confused and desperate face. ("You really are special, aren't you") Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth falling open and her shouts of revenge come to an abrupt halt. A new feeling ran through him now (glee). Then, without another word, he dropped her gently to the floor, turned on his heel, and left the room; all before she can even come up with the words to describe her bewilderment and fury.

_The first time he stole her words. Took them right from her mouth and kept them for himself. It didn't satisfy his hunger (desire) for her but he contented himself with it for now. _


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Thief

Author: chocolatemooses

Characters: Sylar, Elle, with mentions of Noah

Chapter: Chapter 2

Summary: _The second time he took her pain, bore it straight from her body. ("Why?") His eyes bore into hers and she couldn't help but feel incredibly small (protected) under his watchful gaze. ("I guess I owe you")_

Author's Note: AU for 3x07 Eris Quod Sum. This is my first Sylar/Elle fic so I am a little nervous. This takes place after Elle gets fired from the company. Please read and review!

* * *

She was jumpy and on edge for weeks after his first visit, protecting herself out of fear (habit). She moved to an apartment building more than six hours away and leased it under an assumed name. She spoke to no one except for her landlady and all but cut herself off from the world afraid she would hurt someone (someone would hurt her), out in the _real world_ all on her own. For the first few days she considered calling Noah or even the Company itself and telling them all about his little visit. But she didn't. She knew they wouldn't help (she wanted to keep him for herself, her own little secret), so she kept silent.

Her days were a struggle (her nights were a battleground). She would wake up (she would spend hours pushing against the need to sleep). She would try to occupy her hours (she would eventually crawl with sheer terror into her bed). She spent her time watching movie after movie (the moment she would fearfully drift off to sleep the nightmares would begin, more terrifying than any film). She would get bored and shoot bursts of electricity at the few brave pigeons that dared to rest on her windowsill (during the dreams she would unconsciously release wave after wave of electricity, electricity that burned her sheets and seared her own skin). Eventually the day would end with her; sad and alone curled up in her bed, wishing for life (eventually, her own body would fall, unconscious, due to the exhaustion fright brought her, she would wake up sweat stained and alone).

A full moon hung precariously in the sky, the night he came back.

She was already deep in her night terrors, thrashing and bursting bolts of blue throughout the room. Her body was wracked with pain and her muscles twitched under the strain of staying alive. When he entered, he had been clearly surprised (shocked and a little fearful) at the sight of her body bent with panic. His eyes were wide as he watched her blankly, his watchmaker mind evaluating the broken pieces that lay before him.

Ignoring the bright light show that emanated from her body, he noted the way she curled her body into herself and hunched over herself. He saw twin streaks of dirty tear that ran parallel down her face. He was able to hear her small pleas of mercy entreated to her imaginary monster. Among the distorted cries and mumbled curses, one sentiment broke through loud and clear. ("Sylar, no. Please.") His steady expression clouded over, his face filling with apprehension (sorrow).

He pushed away the emotion from his face and once again his face became a blank mask. He glided into the bed, sliding his body next to hers and carefully wrapping his arms around her tiny body. A rush of pain (excitement, tinged with desire) filled him as his body began to absorb the blue lightning flashing off her small form. It seemed like hours (days, years, infinity) that the pain courses through him; igniting his body, shocking his muscles, setting fire to his mind. A lifetime later the shocks lessened and (to his relief) ended.

She was still as his body healed itself, allowing him a moment to study her more closely. She was literally bathed in blue, the light from the moon filtered down into the room and lit the room a unearthly shade of blue. Her hair was plastered against both of their faces (he reveled in the smell of ozone and vanilla) and it felt soft against his face. He didn't dare move, not a muscle, frightened of her probably murderous reaction (of losing the moment) when she awoke.

The moment passed in what could have been hours but seemed like seconds (nanoseconds, a flash in time). She came into consciousness with surprising grace. Her eyes fluttered softly and immediately widened as she confused assessed the situation. She looked at him with apprehension (exhilaration), fear (desire), and wonder (wonder). ("What?") He put a (gentle) hand on her mouth, untangled himself from her sweat-soaked body, and crawled out of the bed.

He was turning to leave when he heard her quiet whisper. ("Wait") He stopped, hand on the door knob, body coiled in preparation for whatever insanity she had in store for him. ("Will you stay?") He immediately turned to face her. She was sitting up, legs curled under her, head down in shame, blonde hair curtaining her face and making it impossible for him to see the emotions running across her face (confusion, fear, hope). He hesitated, realized he didn't know what he was doing, didn't understand the path he was following. Was he trying to redeem himself through gaining her forgiveness (concern, need, love)? Was he trying to fix her, like so many watches before her? (Was he falling in love?) Regardless of the motives he knew he was on an unchangeable course, one he had to see through to the bitter (happy) end.

When he returned to the bed he made no move to mold his body to hers; they lay, un-touching, in the scorched bed. She turned on her side, her back facing him. For a long time she was silent, her body softly commanding her to sleep. Just before she drifted off, she lifted her head ("Gabriel?") ("Yes") She took a long breath, tension preventing her from continuing. With fear she turned, their faces only inches away, the world suddenly seemed extremely loud and incredibly close. He could taste her breathe and his scent filled her lungs. His eyes burned holes in her (soul) and the soft sound of her breathing roaring in his ears. Her eyes widen as she fully comprehended his actions, understood the importance of this quiet moment.

The second time he took her pain, bore it straight from her body, channeled it through himself, and kept it hidden in his body, away where it could no longer touch her. She gazed at him, confusion etched on her face ("Why?") His eyes bore into hers and she couldn't help but feel incredibly small (protected) under his watchful gaze. ("I guess I owe you")


End file.
